Brotherly Love

For many years I was one of “the boys.” I don’t mean that I belonged to any club, musical group or any organization known by a particular name. It was just me and my younger brother, Terry. In my family we were often referred to collectively as “the boys.”

I had an older brother Dan, who, for reasons unknown, was not included in this sub–group. Perhaps it is because he was three and a half years older than me, whereas Terry and I were closer in age by a year. It may have been easier to call us by our group name instead of trying to figure out who was who. I remember Dad often mixing up Terry for Jerry (or was it the other way around?). This confusion often occurred in the heat of the moment when we got into trouble.

“The boys are fighting,” was often announced by our younger sister when in fact we were only wrestling. “The boys” were sent to the third seat in the station wagon, the floor of the hotel room when there were not enough beds, and outside when Mom had had enough.

For many years Dan, Terry and I shared the same bedroom, the same closet, and one night Terry and I shared the same bed. I remember waking up in the middle of the night and asking him to move over.

“Yeah, okay,” he replied in a very drowsy voice, as he slid closer to the wall.

In his next breath he said, “Hey Jer, you’re in my bed. Get out.”

He was right, I was. “Oh, sorry,” I said.

“That’s okay, just get out,” Terry replied – quite politely I thought.

In spite of our cramped quarters and lack of privacy, it was great sharing a bedroom with my brothers. We would laugh ourselves to sleep many nights, and when a thunderstorm rolled over our house we would wake each other up.

I was both the younger brother and the older brother. Sometimes I was the enforcer and took care of a bully; other times I was the one who needed a heavy to take care of a problem. Sometimes I was the tyrant giving out orders; other times I was the slave doing my master’s bidding.

Having a brother or a sister (I was lucky to have two of each – one on each side) can at times mean you have a best friend, a confidant, a consultant, an enemy, an ally, a co–conspirator and someone who can never be replaced.

My grandson, Micah, now has a little brother named Jonah. It will be fascinating to watch them grow closer as they get older. Right now Micah may be wondering how long this new little guy is going to be here, and Jonah may be wondering where am I and who is this loud kid who keeps putting his face so close to mine. Soon they will be best friends, but for now their mother likes to call them “the boys.”